


Control

by polarising



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, Hate Sex, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, hatefucking, i'm like 99 percent gay what am i doing writing about heterosexuals, pre-game for obvious reasons but they're already hating each other, some plot but not really it's just caulscott angry-fucking on max's desk for the most part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polarising/pseuds/polarising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hates him, she hates him so goddamn much, but fuck, she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the roughness of his lips against her collarbones and the firm, deliberate movements of his hips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> good angry sex music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=macfee7ZZKQ

He hates her so much that he wishes he could strangle the neck he's currently kissing, wishes he could wring the skin of its purple marks, but he knows he can't. He wishes he could tighten his grip on the arms that he's running his hands up and down in futile attempts to get closer but he _can't_.

She hates him so much that wants to slap him every time she feels his hot breath on her skin, wants to punch him with her clenched fists that are stopping her from making a move on him. She wants to dig her knuckles under his ribs but instead her hands find their way under his jacket, his cardigan, his shirt, running over the smooth skin and she _can't_.

This isn't loving and tender; this is passionate and rough. There's no slow drumbeat from a stereo in the background, nor are there soft pillows and crisp sheets awaiting. A beige cinder block wall, a metal radiator just in the small of Max's back, and the photography class picture hanging overhead as a reminder of where exactly they are.

Her hands move over Nathan's side and drag down his stomach, shifting to outline the deep V-shape. His breath wavers as he lingers around her collarbone, eventually moving his hands to slide off her pale grey hoodie. It shakes off her shoulders and rests on her elbows, and she takes it off _too_ slowly. It drops to the floor in a heap, and he rushes to move his hands to her waist, using his little finger to lift the hem of the shirt up as he trails it up her side.

"You get to leave all your stuff on while everything I have comes off at once? Talk about unfair," Max comments teasingly. He stops trying to lift up her shirt and takes a step back, not looking her in the eye.

"Fine. Whatever." He unbuttons his cardigan and removes it along with his jacket, leaving only a plain black shirt. He holds his arms out in a "are you happy now?" motion. She shakes her head and gestures to the shirt. "Fuck off. We're even. Women are never satisfied."

She tries to protest, but he still reaches to his back and lifts the shirt over his head.

"This is the last time you get what you want from me, Caulfield," he growls in her ear, returning his hands to her waist. "I don't do favours. Especially not for sly bitches like you."

"What are you doing right now, then?" she asks a little breathlessly, distracted by the closeness of his near-naked body to hers. She presses her hand against his toned stomach with more purpose, dragging her nails lightly over the protruding abs.

"Getting what _I_ want." He grabs her wrist and moves it to the hand on his stomach, and then to her surprise tugs her other wrist away with it. She's completely powerless in this situation, unable to do anything against his strong grasp. He pushes his hand against her, and then more firmly, moving her to one side and away from the wall. He guides her roughly to the nearest desk - her desk - and then lightly shoves her down onto it.

His spare fingers start pulling at the waistband of her jeans, messing with the button and zipper and making quick work of them. _Experienced, clearly,_ Max thinks, not at all shocking her, but it provides a contrast to herself that she's not sure she can make up for.

Her wrists being pulled up and held against the wooden desk, right above her head, is what snaps her out of her train of thought. She can feel her jeans being pulled down her hips side by side - left, then right, left, right - until they stop just above her knees.

She doesn't focus on Nathan attempting to yank his own jeans down with one hand or on how defined his stomach muscles are or on his eyes or hair or lips or anything that's considered romantic, because she knows this _isn't_ romantic. It's animalistic, fueled by a mutual hatred and a lingering mutual attraction, and Nathan's desire to get exactly what he wants or needs out of everyone.

She's under his control, just how he wants it, and just how she likes it. She still wants to tear his hair out and claw at his face and kick him in the shins but she's irresistibly drawn to the idea of him, the idea that he's making exceptions for _her_. She doesn't like _him_ but she'd be lying if she said she didn't like the feel of his coarse hands against her body, the roughness of his kisses against her collarbone, the slow and deliberate grinding movements he makes against her front.

She knows she won't get asked what she wants, and for the most part doesn't care. His fingertips dig into her hipbones, pulling her up and then pushing her back down in rhythm with the forcefulness of his own hips. The desk creaks under their weight, and Nathan makes small grunts against her neck, speeding up ever so slightly.

"Wow, you don't last long," she jeers, and he responds by suddenly knocking her wrists down onto the table as a warning. She winces. It didn't hurt, but it took her by surprise. He moves his hand from her hips down to her thigh, dragging whatever nails he hasn't bitten off due to anxiety down her skin. Again, she winces, and it doesn't hurt. She lets out a quick breath, and he lifts his head from her neck to look down at her.

"Wow, _you_ don't last long," he repeats, mocking her. "Aren't dykes supposed to be able to keep going? I'm not even fuckin' doing anything. You're just sensitive as fuck, apparently - or really paranoid that you're not gonna get off on this." For a second he lets a smirk creep onto his face, knowing full well that he has her right where he wants her.

His hand trails around the outside of her thigh, occasionally making small grabs at her flesh and digging his nails in. He then starts moving it around to the front, making soft, delicate movements despite him not being a soft and delicate person in the slightest, but he's doing it to tease Max, knowing that she can't do anything to resist. He rests it at the very top of her inner thigh, tracing the lower hem of her panties.

The grinding stops, and he runs his finger randomly around her undergarments. Her breath becomes that little bit deeper and that little bit quicker, and her involuntary flinches start to create a tiny arch between her back and the desk.

"For a virgin, you know what you like," he states, focusing anywhere but her eyes.

"It's a-almost like girls masturbate or something. Weird, huh?"

"If you don't keep your mouth shut I'm going to duct tape your wrists and leave you here all night. Have fun sucking up to Jefferson about that one."

His stroking gets rougher and she starts letting out heavier sighs, and then he stops altogether, to Max's dismay. She lifts her head up to look at what's going on and he's pushing his coal-coloured boxers down with just his left hand.

It's not the first time Max has ever seen a dick and she's not going to pretend it is. She's not going to marvel at it and put on a porn star happy face, either. It's nothing special, just a weird appendage. _It's not even impressive_ , she thinks. It just...flicks up as it's released, twitching occasionally whilst he mutters to himself and shuffles his boxers down some more.

"I take it you're better at using your right hand for things rather than your left," she remarks. He doesn't even acknowledge her comment and instead grabs the fabric of her panties that's sitting on her hips and pulls with what Max thinks is all his strength. Thread pulls and they slide down her legs to rest on the top of her jeans.

She doesn't expect Nathan to care much about what's going to be comfortable, and he doesn't. He doesn't have any kind of protection or lubrication, and she didn't expect him to care about that either so it's no surprise.

"Did you not hear about what happened with Dana and Logan?"

"Stop talking," he says, positioning himself.

"Dana g- _ow! Fuck, Nathan!_ " she yelps, forgetting how quiet she's supposed to be as he pushes into her with some force. She knows first times, or any times, aren't supposed to hurt. She knows it only hurts if you're not ready. But, _God_ , listening to his growl of satisfaction as he pushes make it worth it, even though she's not in this for love or desire. He rocks back and forth, thrusting into her and picking up the pace to suit himself. She makes sounds that she knows he wants to hear - it's not that it doesn't feel good, but he's clearly never taken the time to research heterosexual intercourse other than watching cheaply-produced porn where the woman fakes absolutely everything. If anything, Max would expect his tastes to fall on the high-end range of the spectrum, like the premium pay-to-view videos, but no, she can pretty much guarantee his browsing history is just the free section of Pornhub.

It's weird having something so foreign inside her. She's tried doing stuff like this herself but it's a massively different feeling having a stiff, thicker item touch her in comparison to bony and flexible fingers.

"Would this not be easier for you if I was- _ah,_ forwards over the desk rather than bending my spine backwards?" she asks with all sincerity. 

"No," he mutters. His face is twisted into a snarl, except that for now it's of pleasure rather than anger. "I need to see your face while I fuck you."

_It's not that great a view,_ she thinks. _I'm just thinking about whether you actually know what you're doing or if you're just going with the typical 'in-n-out' because that's what suits._

It doesn't take him long to start making clear vocal sounds and she's nowhere near close to being done. She figures it's best to leave him alone and let him come so they can both leave and hopefully forget that this night of hate-fucking ever happened.

"F-fuck," he whimpers, sounding less rash and angry than normal and more calm. Her breathing speeds up as he does, drawing in more sharply as he forcefully slams into her, eager to reach the point of release.

There's no gentleness or exchange of names in the next thirty seconds. He groans louder and louder as he moves back and forth, and thankfully for Max, pulls out when he comes with a shudder and an "oh, _God_ , fuck". It's still not the most reliable tactic, she knows she'll still have to go and get pills tomorrow morning just to make sure, but she's still glad that he didn't let go inside her.

Meanwhile, she's no closer to finishing off than she was a minute or two ago, and she can only lie back, unable to move her arms due to him having an even stronger grip on her wrists. White liquid drips onto the floor below them and she listens to his steady, slowing pants of breath.

"Glad you had fun," she says offhandedly. "That makes one of us."

Without warning, he lets go of her wrists and slides his forearms under her knees, pulling her jeans and panties further down as he does. He brings them up, right up, and puts his head in between her knees, letting her calves rest on his shoulders.

"I thought you said you were just d-doing this for you?" she stammers.

"I am. It's not complete without Max Caulfield moaning my name as she lies completely fucking powerless," he says, moving his left hand back up to her wrists (she didn't dare move them) and leaning down to the other side of her neck. He gently laps at the soft skin and then begins kissing, sucking, nipping - anything to get her going. His right hand wanders down back between her legs, and he gently pushes two fingers inside her and rests his thumb above. He rubs circles on her and very slowly moves his fingers around. _Agonisingly_ slowly. She moans once.

His lips trail up to her ear. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Yes. G-go faster."

He stops making any movement. "You're telling _me_ what to do? That's not gonna work. I want to hear you beg for it, Caulfield."

She's almost taken aback, but obliges. "P-please go faster, Nathan. _Please._ " She throws in a soft groan at the end and he starts to make a curling motion with his fingers, scraping at her and moving his thumb faster and firmer.

" _Yes_ , a-ah, oh my God," she says breathlessly, this time not whimpering just to please him. His movements become more vigorous, have more purpose, and he lifts his head from her neck to look at her growing collection of indigo hickeys littering her collarbones. "Please, Nathan, _please_."

Her little yelps and moans increase in volume and variety, some spilling out as short beats in succession and some being drawn out in long high-pitched groans. She moves her hips as much as she can towards him, desperate for more, desperate for anything that will push her over the edge. She gets there eventually, with a loud cry of his name and a judder of her body. He keeps curling his fingers even when she's past the point of climax, just to hear her moan more.

"Fuck. Oh my God," she mutters, letting her body relax. She takes it back. He knows what he's doing. He knew all along what he was doing and she knows now that he had all intentions of drawing her into disappointment and then forcing her into submission. It wouldn't be hate sex if she wasn't left bitter at one point, would it?

He withdraws his fingers and leaves one last mark on her skin, releasing his grip on her wrists and taking his opportunity to look over her. She has her eyes shut, regulating her breathing, and he slowly lifts her legs from his shoulders and lets them fall, watching the red flush on her cheeks simmer down.

She doesn't move at all while he pulls his trousers back up and replaces his shirt, cardigan and jacket. He picks her hoodie up off the floor and tosses it on top of her. "Caulfield. Get the fuck up."

Max suddenly remembers where she is and shuffles off the desk, letting her feet touch the floor. Her hands blindly reach for her jeans and she struggles to pull them up. Nathan leans back with his foot against the radiator and scrolls through something on his phone, and then thrusts his phone into his pocket and heads towards the door.

She doesn't care enough to button her jeans up so she just pulls her shirt down over it and flings her hoodie over her forearm. By this time, though, he's already out of the classroom.

 

\---

 

"You look really tired, Max. I bet you were up all night studying. Or watching the films on my flash drive. I'll have that back at the end of next week, by the way, I wanna rewatch _Twilight_. No hate. Which one was your favourite? ...Max? Hello? Earth to Max...are you listening?"

She snaps out of her daydream and looks at Warren, who's perched on the edge of her desk looking slightly concerned. "What? Yeah. Oh, yeah, I was just hitting the books since I actually felt like I was in a mood to study. I haven't actually watched any of the movies on there yet, sorry."

"That's cool. I figured you were up late doing _some_ thing because you look spaced out. I'll catch you later, okay?" he says, giving her a smile and a small wave before heading off as Mr. Jefferson steps into the classroom. She pulls out her phone and checks on her Facebook.

A post from Nathan is at the top of her news feed.

" _weird fuckin nite. wells caught me after curfew, fuck tht guy_ " it reads.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm fucking s h a m e l e s s


End file.
